Of Course
by eTara
Summary: This is just a little something that explores the Grey's Promo that aired 3/5/09. Owen and Cristina centered.
1. Chapter 1

**disclaimer:**

**I do not own the rights to the characters used or to the song lyrics used. This fanfic is a non-profit, amateur effort not intended to infringe on the rights of anyone.** **Cristina Yang and Owen Hunt are characters on ABC's Grey's Anatomy.**

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_Author's note: This is just a little something that explores the latest promo. As always, I love reviews. And I hate hiatuses._

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How odd was it that Izzie had come to her, of all people, and told her a secret that she hadn't shared with anyone else. Not with Alex, or Meredith, or George. Alex was her boyfriend. And what were Meredith and George good for, if not for secret keeping? Why had Izzie chosen her, of all of them? Some sick kind of torture. She wasn't prepared to keep this kind of secret. Izzie was having freaking neurological symptoms. Sex with a dead fiancé. And she'd chosen _Cristina_ to talk to about it?

How could she possibly keep this secret? Izzie was sick. A big, life-changing kind of sick. A treatment-requiring kind of sick. But instead of seeking treatment, she was playing cute little games about "Patient X" with the moron interns. She hadn't even included 3, the smart intern, in the charge to find her diagnosis. Was being completely devoid of any self-preservation instinct another symptom? Not that it mattered. What did any of it matter if she wasn't going to take care of herself?

Cristina was supposed to be concentrating on her upcoming solo-surgery. Finally, she would be performing a solo-surgery. Except Izzie Stevens was maybe dying in front of her eyes and Cristina couldn't turn to Meredith for advice. She couldn't do much of anything, really. And so instead, she found herself wandering around the pit looking for Owen Hunt, hoping that he might have some advice for her. Except he was nowhere to be found.

"Dammit," Cristina muttered to herself, suddenly irritated with him. The man all but promises forty years, only to promptly disappear. Whether she was really irritated with him, or just trying not to be irritated with Izzie, she didn't know. Maybe it wasn't even Izzie. Maybe she was irritated with herself. Because she was Izzie's friend. Shouldn't she know what to think? Shouldn't she know what to do? Anyone else—any of the others-- would know. But Cristina found herself paralyzed, desperately searching the hospital for a man she hadn't needed a few short weeks ago. Today, all at once, she needed him. Needed him to talk her down, needed him to put it in perspective. Because today, she didn't have perspective.

"Cristina?" George asked, having to do a double-take when he saw her, leaning against the wall, staring down at her tennis shoes. Cristina jumped at the sound of his voice, torn away from her thoughts.

"Hey," Cristina said, standing up straight. "Hi."

She took an imperceptible step back when George's eyes narrowed, and he cocked his head to this side, as if contemplating his next move. "Hey, hi." He said.

Cristina forced a smile, then cursed herself. Stupid smiling would give her away.

George frowned. "Are you okay?"

"Fine, good, are you in the pit today? I'm not in the pit today, I'm just looking for someone about this thing," she rambled, then forced herself to stop and turned to leave.

"It must be driving you crazy," George said.

Cristina spun around. "Izzie told you?" she asked, relief flooding her.

George looked confused. "No, the Chief announced it. Your name's on the board."

It occurred to her then that he was talking about the solo-surgery. Of course he was talking about the solo-surgery. She should be talking about the solo-surgery. She should be thinking about the solo-surgery. She was finally, finally, getting her solo-surgery and Izzie hijacked the day. She could have killed her. Or whatever.

"Have you seen Dr. Hunt?" she asked suddenly.

George gave her a knowing grin, and she contemplated punching him in the face. But while his reaction had irritated her, he eventually offered up an answer and she went off with a new purpose. She didn't know what she wanted to say to Owen. Maybe she wouldn't need to say anything at all. Maybe seeing him would be enough. Sometimes that was the case. Sometimes just being near him helped calm her. If he hadn't been standing next to him in the OR with Dr. Campbell Crazy Eyes, she might have done more than gotten kicked out of the operating room. She might have gotten herself kicked out of the program.

He was asleep, just as George said he would be. Asleep on a cot in the hallway. And he looked awful, even asleep. He didn't look like he was resting. He looked tense, and alone, and it was hard to see. Hard to stand next to him and know that something was wrong, and she didn't know how to fix any of it. She didn't know how to fix what was wrong with him. She didn't know how to fix what was wrong with Izzie. And she sure as hell didn't know how to fix what was wrong with herself.

She moved over to the cot and leaned down, "Owen," she said softly, bending over to get close to his ear, trying not to startle him.

And of course she did startle him.

Because when it came down to it, everything about Owen Hunt was an 'of course'.

Of course he pulled an icicle out of her abdomen. And of course he kissed her in an exam room. And of course he walked away. And of course he came back. And of course he made her save pigs, and of course he made her turn around and kill them. And of course he didn't know her name. And of course he was in the after. And of course he thought she was hypercompetitive and unfeeling. And of course she told him about her dad. And of course he looked at her with those eyes. And of course she followed him out of a bar. And of course he backed her up against a wall. And of course he kissed her. And of course he took her to the vent. And of course she kissed him. And of course he showed up for their first date late, and drunk. And of course he got into her shower fully clothed. And of course he asked her for another chance. And of course he had an ex-fiancee.

It was all so predictable, so natural. Everything that was going to happen between them did. And none of it was a surprise, in hindsight. It was barely a surprise at the time. She hadn't really batted an eye at any of it. 'Half a dozen, either way'? Fine, jackass. Forty years? Indeed.

And so this was not a surprise, either.

Because of course she startled him.

Of course he had an exaggerated startle response.

Of course he swung his arm out.

Of course he hit her.

Of course she was knocked off balance.

Of course she fell.

The pain was no real shock, either. There wasn't a lot of extra meat on her bones, and she fell on her ass. And she hit her head on the supply cart behind her. It produced a lot of noise, and they were lucky no one was around to hear. It took him a few seconds to realize what had happened. She was just getting back on her feet when he made it over to her, and held her face in his hands. He was shaking, his eyes searching hers.

"Cristina," he said, and he tried to look into her eyes but she couldn't. Of course she couldn't. She was embarrassed. Because--_of course_. Of course, she should have known and now he was looking at her, saying her name over and over again and she just _couldn't_.

"I didn't mean to—" she started, but he stopped her.

"Please, just let me see if you're okay, I'm so sorry, let me see. Please look at me." He was pleading.

And it's awful, that she did it, that she didn't predict it and now he was apologizing to her. Of course _he_ was apologizing to _her_.

"I'm okay. I was just coming to—it doesn't matter." She still couldn't look at him. He would look so concerned. He would look so guilty. He would look so destroyed and she just couldn't be the person who destroyed him. Not today.

"I'm okay," she repeated, and gently pulled his hands away from her face. "I'm okay."

She backed up and turned away. And then she started walking. She left him standing there and she couldn't look back. Not yet.


	2. Chapter 2

**disclaimer:**

**I do not own the rights to the characters used or to the song lyrics used. This fanfic is a non-profit, amateur effort not intended to infringe on the rights of anyone.** **Cristina Yang and Owen Hunt are characters on ABC's Grey's Anatomy.**

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_A/N: thank you all so much for the reviews!_

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It didn't quite work without him. Didn't clear her head the same way. Didn't give her the same rush, or the same release. It was not so out of time. Not so out of space. Only some things could happen, when she was alone on the vent.

It should have been such a good day. She should have had Meredith next to her on her first solo-surgery, the way they'd been for Sadie's appendectomy. But Meredith was occupied with Derek, who oddly enough wasn't even pretending to hold it together. Who knew Alex would ever look like the stable boyfriend, although they should all be thankful for that. Someone in the relationship needed to have their head on straight. Although, honestly, he looked like maybe he was about to crack, too.

He'd assisted her and they'd gotten through the surgery. And it had gone well enough. And Bailey and the Chief had congratulated her on a job well done. But she wasn't a 'well enough' kind of surgeon. She was an excellent surgeon. And so of course she was unhappy, which led her to the vent. Not that it was helping.

She stepped off the grate and sat down on the cool cement floor, feeling sorry for herself. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Not for her. She was Cristina Yang.

Her back was to the door and the vent was making a racket, but she knew instinctively when Owen stepped into the room. She looked over her shoulder and saw his outline in the light from the hallway. He didn't look surprised to see her, so she knew he must have come looking for her.

Cristina watched as he stepped into the room, pausing in the doorway, his hand still holding the door open, as if he didn't want to commit to coming in. She frowned when she saw his hesitation. "Come in," she said.

He nodded, a brief flash of something on his face, he looked grateful for the invitation. As if she'd taken the decision away from him. There was a heaviness to him, he was carrying a burden. It had been hours since she'd last seen him, and he was out of his scrubs and in jeans and a T-shirt, carrying that green jacket under one arm. She watched as he made his way toward her, then past her, and sat on the floor a good six feet away from her. He looked at his hands in his lap before looking up at her, searching her face. They stared at each other, their silence broken by the vent, stirring the air in the room in regular intervals. It took awhile, but he was the first to speak.

"How are you feeling?" he asked. "Are you okay?"

She nodded, watched him shift uncomfortably.

"Bruises?" he asked, almost in a whisper.

She shook her head. It might have been a lie. She hadn't looked for bruises. It didn't matter. "Why are you sitting all the way over there?" she finally asked. He looked pained. She'd looked for him in the gallery, during the surgery. He hadn't been there. She could see that he had separated himself. That he had pulled away. And she could see he was here to announce his intentions. He would be taking some space. Of course.

"You don't have to sit so far away," she said softly. Her voice trembled with her irritation.

He shrugged, "I-ah- just wanted to say I didn't- I'm sorry."

"Why are you sitting so far away?" Cristina scooted forward, moving closer to him. He got the look of a trapped animal, and he leaned back, away from her. She moved closer.

Owen cleared his throat. "Cristina, I-"

"I'm not afraid of you," she said, getting up onto her knees moving over to him. He couldn't move without looking like he was escaping. He looked like he wanted to escape. Cristina moved closer, the cement unforgiving underneath her knees. She reached for his hands but he pulled them away, so instead she held his face in her hands. His legs were stretched out in front of him so to get close to him, she'd had to straddle them. The closeness of their bodies, the sexual undertones of their body positioning, did not escape her. She ached for this man. At the same time she wanted to slap some sense into him. She tilted his head back, forced him to look at her. "I am not afraid of you."

Owen shook his head, closed his eyes to avoid looking at her. "I can't, Cristina. This isn't right."

"I'm not afraid," she said, knowing she was talking about more than just the hallway incident. She moved a hand over his hair, let her fingers glide through the red strands until she pulled his face toward hers. He opened his eyes as she kissed him gently on the lips, only slightly worried when he didn't kiss her back.

"You're not scary," she said softly. This got a small smile out of him. She could almost read his mind. _You are._

She kissed him again, and his mouth opened hesitantly. Recognizing his resolve had weakened, she deepened the kiss. He groaned softly, one hand coming up to cradle the back of her head. The kiss was deepening, warmth flooding though her body, when he abruptly broke the kiss and turned his face away. "I'm seeing someone," he blurted.

She pulled away, incredulous. "Are you kidding me?" she demanded, furious.

He turned toward her, confusion painted in his face. Then, it occurred to him that she'd misunderstood. She was already starting to back away, moving off of him, and he grasped her wrists before pulling his hands back, as if her skin had burned him.

"Not another woman," he said quickly, looking to control the damage.

Cristina stopped her retreat and looked back at him. She searched his eyes for clues.

"I…have problems," he said. "So I went to see someone today. A therapist, not another woman. I mean, she's a woman, but…" he paused, trying to re-focus the conversation. "I hurt you, today. I hurt you and I…can't" he looked down at his lap. "So I went to see someone today."

"Okay." She nodded. "That's good."

He looked at her, then cleared his throat and stood up, shrugging into his jacket. "I should get going."

Cristina stood and eyed him. "This isn't over, with us. So don't go thinking this is over." And she wanted to tell him about Izzie, and about the less than excellent surgery. She wanted to lean on him, which is maybe the only think about him that she found scary. The way he made her want to relax. But tonight wasn't the night. Tonight, she had to let him off the hook.

He nodded again, then, looking appropriately chastised, gave a small self-depreciating laugh. He looked significantly lighter when he left her.

_*the end*_


End file.
